Under the Sun
by Dagdoth Fliesh
Summary: A young woman who is beloved by the woods comes across a broken body. It's amazing that she could tell there was a human being under that cold stare. KyuzouXOC
1. Prolog: Healer

Hello! Please enjoy reading this! My first Samurai 7 fan fiction, of which I wish there was more to read. Especially with OCs and Kyuzou. As a short summary, this story takes place after Kyuzou's 'death,' and the very unlikely chance that he was unconscious and not dead. He was just too badasseried to die, I think.

I love reviews, but please do not ask for updates, because then I'll probably reply with a 'hopefully soon' because I have little time to write with college physics and calculus. I'll try and provide information with ()'s in the text that correspond at the bottom of the chapter. Thanks again! -Youmi BTW: I need you people to be grammar Nazi's! Tell me about any spelling mistakes etcetera!

Silent Cries

Prolog

The day was bright, nearly as bright as the marine sun, even through the trees. Not that I had ever seen it before, but I'd heard enough from my mother, about how its blinding light colored the far away oceans in spring blue. Sweet sweat beaded on my forehead and dampened the back of my neck so that my unruly hair clung to it in thick unbearable clumps. I sighed and pulled the half undone fishtail-braid back over my left shoulder, smoothing my fingers though the dark locks. Then I wiped my brow and went silently back to my task, digging herbs from the thick ground.

My hands felt dry and gritty as I pulled mandrake root from the dirt and deposited it into the basket at my side, then moved slightly over to start again on another plant. A strange plant, the mandrake. Once it was said that the plant had wished badly to be human and a deity took pity on the poor vegetation, allowing it the shape of a man. Now it was just a narcotic, made to help the suffering.(1)

I finished with my task and stood, walking towards the river which laid to my right. The waters were cool and welcome compared to the heat; ducking my head I gulped from the clear waters and carefully cleaned the dirt from my hands, then filled a large flask. Time was short when there was work to do, but I enjoyed the feeling of grass under my bare feet, the wind that ruffled my dark hair. Bells rang on my wrists, tied in place by spring blue ribbons.

Slowly the trees parted, revealing a small cottage settled next to an old dried well, the untamed grasses that tickled my feet grew thick about it, thick from it. Wild flowers scattered across the old roofing which dipped precariously inwards. Lavender and daisies were what the inside smelt of, various dried bundles of herbs resting across the hearth and on an old table. The inside was sparsely decorated, what furniture there had once been had rotted away and was cleaned out some time ago. The boards dipped here too in places, but were in far better shape than the roof. The one change that had happened in the last few days however was the presence of the black boots by the door, fairly new yet worn. I entered slowly, searching for the form of the fallen samurai.

He laid in my bed at this moment, his breathing uneven as I stood over him, as if it took great strength to expand and contract his lungs. No doubt it was, as he had a gunshot wound straight through his body. Bandages stretched across his sculpted chest, which had once been covered by a red gun-coat, covering the worst of the green-yellow bruises marring his pale skin, the arrays of cuts over his arms and shoulders, down to his navel where a spattering of blonde hair lead into uncharted territory. I had bandaged his legs, applied an ointment to keep the scars from his calves, and rubbed sweet smelling oil into his skin to keep it from drying in the heat. All of this was covered by a thin sheet; any more blankets and he would die of heat stroke. My eyes raised to his face, tracing the contours as I had often done since his arrival.

I wanted to say I'd grown to know him well, while he slept.

I'd combed out his tangled flaxen hair into a halo around his face, washed it from the oil and blood that had originally matted it into a tawny color. I'd always thought people were supposed to look peaceful as they slept, as my mother always had before she died, but this samurai's brows frowned, his eyes clenched against the light of candle and sun, his lips pulled down as if he wasn't allowed to smile. But he was beautiful non the less.

My eyes raised to his clothes and double swords, washed, mended, and folded neatly at his side. He wore a strange assortment, which seemed as if they were better for stealth than full on combat, the black undershirt, pants, and half face mask. Their fibers were tough, but his red coat was soft against my fingers, I'd marveled when I first laid eyes upon it, wondering of its style.

And although I cared diligently for the man, I knew little about him.

I had found him ragged on the ground over a week ago, unconscious. Around that same time a warship had passed over, skirmishing with other mechanical samurai on route to Kanna Village. He must have slipped and somehow, the thick trees which broke his fall saved him from certain death.

I kneeled, setting the basket of mandrake next to my thigh and uncorking the flask. His cheek was warm and smooth against my palm, as I tried to keep him as clean shaven as I had found him, and I let my hand rest there for a moment, feeling the muscle of his jaw and bone of his cheek. His eyes clenched at the touch, lips parting in a warm breath that tickled my wrist. It was as if he could sense me there, but could not wake up, defend himself as he was no doubt trained. Face flushed, I let a trickle of water into his mouth and moved away quickly to find a good stone to grind the mandrake.

I found a good bowl shaped rock that I often used as a mortar, and a longer oblong one for crushing, my pestle. Firewood was placed into the hearth of the house, and I set a moderate amount of the water to boil over it, then returned to slowly skinning and crushing the herbs at my disposal. The mandrake was bitter in my nose, and bled milky liquid. Once I was proud of the grinding, I pushed the mash into the boiling water and stirred it slowly around. (2)

Chamomile was also added, and I plucked leaves to add to the stew, their aromatic smell filling the house, overtaking the mandrakes bitter fragrance. Thus I sat and stirred until filmy oil gathered at the top of the pot. I tasted it experimentally, made a face, and decided it was done.

The water was thick and sour, and I gathered it in a shallow bowl, trying to avoid the mashed mandrake roots and only collect the oils, as the root was very poisonous. Quietly, I took it to the injured man, the bells jingling on my wrists.

Only, his eyes were open, their color that of blood, stabbing through me. His breathing had evened, yet he still breathed through parted lips. He had been sleeping all this time, but his gaze was as if he were still in the midst of a dream.

My breath caught in my throat, strangely aware of the hot bowl against my finger tips, the creaking in the walls, the scent of the air, the dryness of my mouth. For a moment my belly knotted tight in fear, unsure of this awake man lying before me. What was he like? What did he see before him?

He eyed me warily, although sleepily, as if all the strength in his body was drained away. I knew he must have had strength, strength enough for many men, for I had felt the contours of his body and the sinewy muscle that held his lithe frame together.

Swallowing I knelt, and held the bowl to his lips, words tumbling from my own, "Samurai-_sama_, this is a medicine, please drink it. I apologize for the flavor, but I promise it will numb your pain."

His eyes remained untrusting.

But he drank, although slowly and with suspicion in the liquid I had prepared, perhaps without will for the pain that must have wracked his frame. Wondrously I tried to imagine the kind of life he lead, something that was far, far different from my own. People from the woods can typically smell people from the city, and his arrival did nothing to quench my curiosity. In all rights, he was the first person I had seen since being orphaned.

I pulled the bowl away and reached for the flask, avoiding his gaze that burned into my face. "Here, I have water if you're thirsty. Please call for me if you need anything else." A gust of warm air caught my hair as I stood.

He nodded.

One step lead to another and I had made it safely from the room. The bowl was still hot against my fingers as I scampered from the building, like a squirrel set on by a snake. Old boarding turned into dry wild grass, and the bells around my wrists alarmed, evasive to the chirping of the wren above me in the branches, the gusting wind, the hot sun.

Why I ran I did not know, I felt giddy, my heart hammering in my chest, the cup discarded behind me.

Rapid waters greeted me, my feet having carried me to the river. After ten more paces I sank down on top of a large boulder face. Such was its size that it cut off a pool of deep water with little connection to the river. Light reflected on my face from the pond, and my eyes reflected back into my own. They were green, greener than the grass and dark pines, contrasting my black hair that spun lazily across my shoulders like strands of spider silk.

Sprawled across the rock's warm surface I released a final sigh. My eyes fluttered closed, trying to block out the samurai's expression, the color of his piercing gaze. That cold warriors soul.

I had wanted to say I knew him well, while he slept, but the truth was I didn't know him at all…

(1) Mandrake, also known as mandragora, are part of the nightshade family, and as such are very poisonous plants. A long time ago people used them for medicine and witch superstitions because of their strange human shape. In the fall they get berries on their stalks which in contrast to their nature are very edible and tasty.

(2) don't quote me on this, and definitely don't do at home. This was made up for I couldn't find any 'recipes' including mandrake.

I'll be writing more!


	2. Seeing

Hey~ ya'll. It's been a very long time, and I'm surprised I've even had any amount of time to type is up, considering I'm a full time college student now! (Yey!) I'd like to thank, SugarLandBabyGirl, Issa, 44-Dragon-Mistress-44, Fairy Skull, cookiechan, aereall, and -my-forgotten-rose- for all your nice reviews! I will reward you with an invisible internet cookie! Enjoy. This chapter seems slightly short, but I hope they will increase in length as time goes by. :D

Chapter Summary: Our girl tries to adjust to Kyuzou's presence and runs into another person in the woods.

...

By the time I awoke the moon was in the sky and bats were flitting back and forth overhead, hunting for the insects that swarmed above. The crickets were singing and frogs echoed calls through the woods. I let out a muffled moan and sat up, stretching sorely from the uncomfortable position on the rock. I slipped down, washed my face, and stood again. My walk was quiet back to the abandoned house, my bare feet tickled by the grass and wild flowers, the longer blades reaching my elbows.

Once and a while I would see a firefly's glow and as I approached the shadowed hut the flickering amber flash grew thick. My bells were a soft jingle on my wrists, easing the knot my gut was twisting into. I paused at the threshold, peering into the gloom where embers of the mandrake stew burnt low and warm.

The samurai lay still, a pale shadow against the wood which promised to crumble under only a little more pressure. He seemed to be asleep, his fair-hair falling gently into his eyes, his brows pinched down. His lips parted in a slow breath, stirring the glow bug resting neatly on his nose.

It rose into the air, flickered, and landed on my outstretched finger. When it sensed my heat it moved away again to join its brethren, mixing and twirling until I could no longer make out who was who; they seemed to be one large entity, rather than the million individuals. I felt calmer now, now that I realized I was not truly alone with the fallen samurai.

Now that he was not awake.

I let out a sigh, straying closer to the pit of the house. The mandrake stew had to be thrown out, and I did so before quickly rinsing the pan and placing it again to boil over the coals. I stirred the fire and laid fresh kindling upon it, watching as the wood first turned black, and then into bright sizzling colors as the sap crackled. I added sweet onions into the water, wild rice, dried venison. My stomach grumbled at the smell, and I realized for the first time how hungry I actually was. Breakfast had been early last morning; I had forgotten to eat supper. The sky outside had already turned from the dark Milky-Way into the lighter purples of the coming dawn, in the distance a bird warbled loudly through the silence.

The samurai took a heavy breath, his brows drawing into the 'v' I had come to know, the sense that he could feel my presence. His lungs expanded up and down in a steady rhythm, rustling the diaphanous cloth pulled over his torso. I watched this quietly, pulling my knees to my chest and running thin fingers through the undone braid, easing complicated knots from the long strands.

His crimson eyes cracked open, fluttered closed, then returned to the rotted ceiling above as if he was unsure of its stability. Firelight flickered in his orbs. The thatch was made of rushes, and all throughout the old roofing visible roots of the daisies and wildflowers tangled together. In one corner, the top had disappeared altogether, slopping towards the floor as fireweed grew from it in thick violet patches.

Then his blood colored eyes turned to me. The piercing stare didn't seem as if he were looking at me, but through me, as if I were a phantasm of this broken home.

He tried to move then, easing his body up. I intervened quickly, "Samurai-_sama_, you mustn't move. Your wounds will reopen… they haven't had time to heal." my voice was soft, but commanding. I was surprised that the nervousness in me stayed at bay, away from his prying eyes.

He resisted for a moment, torso glowing with a light sheen of sweat, and then slowly settled back against the bedding, opting to agree with me. I diverted my eyes back to the stew and quietly stirred the food round and round in a mantra of simmering rice.

I fed him first, as he was the one who needed it most. I watched his jaw move, the pronounced Adam's apple in his throat bob up and down with each thick swallow. When breakfast finished I tentatively gazed at him, pacing away, rolling bundles of dried herbs on the hearth. Every time my eyes strayed back, his eyes were on me, still carving.

It was very disconcerting, I didn't know what he was thinking in the least, and I wished he would speak. Finally when I had finished gathering the lavender and tied it from the ceiling, glancing at him one final time before leaving to gather more herbs, he _did_ speak. His voice was rolling thunder and it made me jump like the deer I often startled in the forest.

"What's your name?" The deep bass seemed to echo from the ceiling, although his voice was hoarse from disuse.

"My name?" I balked slightly, and reluctantly turned my gaze away from his and to the far less interesting rotted floor. "Yaumi," I wondered if he knew what the villagers had called my mother before she died. I wondered if he knew what they must have called me before I hid in the woods. "What's your name, samurai-_sama_?" I hoped that he did not know or did not pay attention to the superstitions of the villagers. And if he did not, I hoped he did not notice how nervous I was about him knowing.

"Kyuzou."

"A-ah," a timid stutter finally appeared but I did my best to swallow it back as I kneeled close to the edge of his bed. The bells on my wrists shifted constantly, drawing his red gaze. My own gaze fell on his chest, where the makeshift bandaging tightly wound. "Do your wounds hurt badly, Kyuzou-_sama_?"

His name tasted… _strange_ on my tongue.

He shook his head minutely, as his lips parted again in a deep breath. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Little over a week," tentatively, I brushed the cover down his torso to reveal more bandages. The gentle touch made his breathing stop for a long moment as his body tensed; I quickly withdrew my straying hand and flushed. "The bullet wounds are severe, and you must have taken quite the fall from that ship." I tried uncomfortably. "You're fortunate that nothing broke."

His red eyes widened a little, lips parting only a sliver. Then it hit me that he might not totally remember what had occurred to him.

"Kyuzou-_sama_?" I inquired.

His face tensed back into monotone, sharply looking at me. "_Kambei_?"

Kambei? I fixed him with a peculiar expression, and slowly shook my head. "I don't know anyone by that name." And as he would soon find out, I didn't know anyone at all.

He winced and settled his head back, closing his fatigued eyes. His breaths came fast, pained, heavy within his constricted chest. I moved to fill a carved bowl with water and set it besides him, noticing absently how my thin fingers shook like aspen leaves. Gathering the flask I quickly exited and left him to rest.

The day proved to be just as hot as the day before, with more humidity and less wind to lighten the thick musk. Absently I gave a retreating glance to the hut, hoping that the man inside would rest rather than roam, then grabbed an old _seioikago_ (1) and set to work.

I walked for a long while, a few kilometers into the woods, enjoying the feel of sun on my skin, the thick taste of the air. A faint deer trail crossed my path through the forest, leaving hoof scrapes in the dirt and old leaves trampled in their wake. Soon enough the raging river came before me again, this section a full roar of falls and twists in rock flowing back the way I came. The other side arched high above, and I craned back to see the cliff covered with thick pines.

The faint jingle of my wrists pushed me past this sight, encouraging me to accept the misty falls as an illusion, for I knew at the village atop accepted me as the same.

Here in the dampness below, I walked upon the remains of a recent battle, picking my way between sharp metal and oil stains. A lingering crow watched me through content beady eyes, knowing that it had already scavenged anything I could not. Foragers were quick, and I pressed on because only nobuseri echoes remained.

Beyond the deep ravine under the mountain village, the dampness and warmth provided enough shelter for my catch, bountiful wild mushrooms accompanied by the smell of rotting plants and thick soil. The maitake fungi was abundant here and always had been in the early fall months. It was a harvest.

"Who's there?" A voice called.

My breathing caught, taken unawares that someone could possibly be here. I quickly hid behind a thick tree; the bark was rough against my hands, scratchy against my frail yukata.

Into the thick mist adumbrate figures moved, ghosts against phantom trees. The voice called again, asking the question I didn't want to answer. It was an older man, the tenor was rough and compelling, a sound I remembered my father to have when I was very little and had done something wrong.

I held still against the cool tree, breath caught in my lungs with near fear as the taller figure moved forwards, pausing to search the mists with hard calculating eyes. I felt should I move, the darker skinned man in white would see me.

For one long, amazingly tense moment, in which all I could hear was the distant roar of the falls, the samurai's gaze fell over me to decipher and pull me forth from the woods and into reality. A reality I couldn't exist in without consequences, without torments, without rules. Then slowly, the eyes moved on to the next tree, the next, the next, the next.

My blood roared in my ears, thick and pulsing. I felt warmly sick and coldly calm at the same time, for I knew that had he seen me something better left undisturbed would have changed.

He sighed. This was all the signal the other two needed to draw close enough to detail. A blonde haired man younger than the first, and another even younger samurai.

"Seeing things?" the blonde asked with a hint of humor, but not enough to smile.

"Maybe," and then his eyes fell on me, and I knew that he saw, whether or not he told the others. "But perhaps I am mistaken. It was only a village bell in the mist."

"If you're seeing things, _sensei_," the youngest said as the group slowly walked down the path, "then we're in trouble."

Those hollow eyes flickered past me and into the distance, before they all together disappeared, voices merging into the heat and gusting bellows of far away winds.

I could not move, no matter how much I knew I should. He could come back, or the others could get curious in what he had supposedly _not_ seen. But I was hardened sap on that tree, my shaking limbs causing he bells on my wrists to rattle like snakes.

It was finally the thought of the samurai resting in my home that made me move, and it was back the way I came.

When I entered the fallen cottage and set my empty _seioikago_ on the floor, I took a long moment to lean against the wall, suddenly very fatigued, as if I had scrapped five years of my life away. My bare feet felt raw and the space between my shoulder blades ached deeply although I could not remember what I had done to cause the pain.

I lowered my shaky body before the hearth and held my head in worn hands, trying to will the unnatural chill from my limbs, trying to calm my racing mind. It swirled wildly between the villagers and bells, and samurai. It rushed over the ground and through seasons, summer, fall, and then into winter where the smiling face of my mother slowly eased my breathing into a gentle trickle.

Then I remembered Kyuzou again and slowly turned my green eyes to his still form and the gaze that was sharper than even his double blades.

His hair framed his face perfectly, just _so close_ to covering his almost curious expression. But perhaps I read his face too readily now he was awake. He seemed ever wary, ever ready to resist the sleep he should have enjoyed when I was near. A warrior, through and through.

The only difference between his waking and sleeping state, was that he saw me for who I was, and I saw him as the only connection out of this haunted forest.

...

Thanks for reading! Comments and questions are much appreciated!

(1) Seioikago: a traditional Japanese bamboo basket with shoulder straps on both sides.


	3. Yama-Uba

I am a horrible author, I know. I rarely update and I have no finished stories :P But I'm sure all of you will enjoy this chapter! My thanks go out to all the favorites and alerts that have been put on this story, thank you all! Review answering time! … Even if you guys don't remember writing the reviews… because it's been so long XD (3 years /cough)

Asharion: You are in luck, and everyone has you to thank for me writing this chapter, because your review made me want to add onto it again. Thank you so much for your heart felt review. How I wish more people could review like you 3 And they are indeed all raw products. EAT YOUR HAT CUR, EAT IT NOW.

pancakeThief: This is a thing that is now done. YOUR WELCOME. /pout

Cherushii Akane: Thank you (: if you're still reading this, you'll have completed your second wish.

Zaryin: Thank you, and you're welcome :D

Guest: You're welcome, nameless person :D

the hotpocket hunter: Gods, your username makes me hungry.

sorcerousfang: Your prayer has been answered! Bow down and despair.

teenelizabeth: I'm happy I'm writing an enjoyable OC (: I too know the pain of clicking on an OC story and I just cry because it wasn't what I wanted it to be.

Mira Skolesky: Thank you! Kyuzou is hard to write because he doesn't talk much. I find it's best if I write around and about him.

Fairy Skull: :D THANK YOU.

44-Dragon-Mistress-44: If you're still getting e-mails for my story, (if you even remember it, lol) I hope this excites you as well!

my-forgotten-rose: I hope you're enjoying college (:

stela waltz: I wish the chapters were longer too ): I'm just a lazy cur.

SugarLandBabyGirl: I hope your pertinence pays off waiting for this, lol.

Chapter 3

Kyuzou felt well enough to move the following day, and I tentatively helped him sit right from the old futon and move to the creaky deck. His skin had become slick with sweat, a sweet musk clinging in the air, shining in that marine sun. Those eyes moved across the forest, seeing and not seeing, lost in the heat.

It took some time to fetch water from the river and a little more to let it warm in the wooden buckets. Once I'd gathered cloth and prepared ointment, I kneeled behind the semi-naked samurai and slowly unwound his bandaged torso. The bruises were a sharp contrast to his skin, the slices to his right arm vivid and slightly red, but not swollen with infection - - he would regain its use, with time. His breaths came deep, holding back pain, but pus came forth from the gunshots and I worried for infection there could truly be a problem.

"I'm sorry," I apologized before dipping the cloth into the water and pressing it to the mangled flesh. He did not hiss or moan, but the sinew under my fingers tensed, so I knew he felt pain. Gently I cleansed the wounds, leaving the bath cloth stained with a sickening hue of yellow.

I re-soaked and wrung the water across his shoulders and back.

Older wounds, scars now only, decorated his skin. I brought the cloth along his neck and meticulously down his arms. His chest was much the same, and I breathlessly touched over the scared muscle. His skin was hot.

"Lean forwards, eyes closed," I eased him until his head was away from the deck, then took the heavy bucket in my arms to slowly pour the lukewarm water over his head. I ran my fingers through the golden locks, wringing and detangling until all sense of oil had disappeared. Kyuzou's hair dripped little and his red eyes upturned towards me, his red orbs silent.

"Thanks," his deep voice finally said, earning a slight smile from my lips. It settled into a mild blush, and I set the bucket aside to collect the used bandages. An old tub that now served as a wash-bin sat near, filled to the brim with cool water. I let the bandages soak for some time in their bath before I vigorously chaffed the wet cloth between my knuckles to remove grime and blood.

The sun beat down on my neck and I pushed my long braid of hair from my shoulder. I moved easier around the samurai now that I had something to do, to distract me from his watching eyes. Those unfathomable battle filled eyes.

"You live alone," Kyuzou stated, he did not question.

My shoulders tensed lightly, and I glanced upwards at the samurai. His body looked cleaner now, his pale skin slightly damp. Narrow crimson eyes looked into mine.

"Yes," I answered slowly, diverting my gaze to the rippling water, continuing with my scrubbing. It sloshed noisily and crickets chirped nearby, the bells on my wrists trilling. "My mother died sometime ago," I explained, so that he would not have to ask what caused my solitude. "My father died in battle. I have nowhere else to go." I found myself wishing he would speak again - - I wanted to hear his rich voice.

He didn't. I finished scrubbing and hung the cloth to dry; I hid my disappointment. Gathering ointment for his wounds, I returned to Kyuzou's side with the bitter smelling paste. He eyed it wearily, then inclined his head. It felt better to know I had a little of his trust.

I spread the salve over scrapes and bruise, the cool mint and herb paste numbing my fingers. He slowly relaxed into my hands, letting my palms spread across his shoulders and upper back, kneading the firm flesh, contouring the spine and shoulder blades. Although he relaxed, his eyes did not close. They stared into the woods with deep concentration.

By the time I pulled away, his bandages had dried, and I carefully redressed his wounds. "It's finished," my bells jangled, and with the sound a flock of crow were startled from the trees across the high grass. I jerked at the sound of wings and of the sight of a man dressed in white with dark skin: his gaze was pleasant if not as seeing as it had been the day before when it dared to pull a child of the forest from the leaves.

His eyes were on me at first, and then flashed with an ambivalent emotion at the sight of the blonde samurai. And then he spoke, a sound with much admiration, "Kyuzou, you're… alive."

It startled me so that I barely realized Kyuzou had managed to his feet the same time as I, but I hadn't the thought to support him - - I drew a step back. The samurai in white strode confidently forwards from the trees, a slight breeze catching his hair and my ragged yukata before I managed to put my hut between myself and them, between their world and mine.

The inside of my home was deathly quiet, the only sounds my quick breaths through my nose. Walls of rotten wood seemed too thin a protection, but I couldn't force myself to move. My heart pounded, and my fingers dug into the wall as I pressed against it. I could hear the porch boards squeak with stress as the white samurai moved across it, hear Kyuzou's erratic breaths.

"Kambei," said Kyuzou, his deep voice a mere tremor through the planks. Then the sound of what might have been the clasping of a shoulder. But their surprising camaraderie did not settle my racing nerves.

"You were shot, we thought you dead. This is some miracle indeed, I came here only to find the woman called Yama-uba (1)."

And the newcomer, this Kambei who Kyuzou had inquired of when first awakened, was truly from that village which knew my mother as a demon, pulling her - now only me - forth from the wilds.

I gasped for breath and opened my eyes, pushed away from the wall and backed further into the sunken building where the roof slumped under gravity. Shadows past the door and they entered - - yet I dared to flee.

I made for a broken section of the wall - - and was ultimately stopped from leaving. A hand appeared on the broken edge and an inspecting face followed. The man was aging, yet handsome in facial build with a lavender colored haori draped across his shoulders - - the blonde from the day before. I was pinned in my own house, caught between the outside world that wished to smother me under its dogma and prejudice, my escape was unclear.

My heart hammered in my chest and the color that rose in my cheeks was more from fear than exertion as the three entered the too quiet room. When my back touched the wall, I was still again, mind a cluster of too loud thoughts although my bells were quiet.

"What do you want with me?" I asked before my mind caught my lips. "There is no Yama-uba… please leave."

What else does one do? Where else is there to hide but in the mind of thoughts and secrets?

Kambei's invasive gaze was calm and calculating on another level altogether than Kyuzou's - - whose exhaustion impinged on his wakefulness. But Kyuzou was different than Kambei, he had experienced all Yama-uba could offer, and knew her as me. His red gaze twitched, hard and strict, yet lacking its normal power.

"Are you not her?" the unnamed blonde inquired. "the villagers of Kanna described a woman who lived in a run down home, who dressed in rags and knew healing. "

My lips quivered, thinking beyond his words, back to my memory as a child, where stones pelted me and my mother, where my father -

- I dared not finish the thought, gasping in the lavender scented air as if it were life. When I said nothing the blonde scratched his scalp. Fully pulling himself into the room.

Kambei's cool gaze pulled me into the here and now, his stoic features revealing neither his intentions nor thoughts. Kyuzou's ragged breathing filled the space between us.

"I…" my voice quavered, gaze flitting to the broken roof, past the hanging herbs and into the beams of sunlight. "She is not here. She died long ago."

The blonde seemed skeptical at best, but then Kyuzou interrupted with a sound of pain and slightly lurched under Kambei's support.

"Kyuzou-sama?" my question was met by a faltering gaze and a brow slick with fresh sweat. "Lay him there." I jerked my hand towards the tatami-mat. I could not bring myself to near them.

Kyuzou panted in the heat, if he was awake or unconscious I could not tell, and Kambei moved away after feeling the blonde samurai's forehead. "A fever."

"His wounds are not healed," as I spoke, Kambei turned his attention to the bandages wrapped around Kyuzou's torso, his gloved fingers pressing momentarily against the dip of a bullet wound, his lips parted, reliving that moment.

His gray eyes speared me then, as they did in the forest, "I was there when these bullets pierced him. Kyuzou died on that ship in my arms, and yet he lives here."

I swallowed thickly - uncertain of his thoughts, his intentions, the meaning in his tone. Reflected in my green eyes was a man similar to Kyuzou, but not. He was a weary soul, but he was strong; his eyes were the same as Kyuzou's, but they were the eyes of a dead man.

"Wh-what is it you need from me?"

"We have need of your skills in healing," the samurai's expression softened, perhaps he knew the quaver in my voice as fear. "It is the village's Mikumari who is sick, and she may not be long for this world without your help."

"I see," the slow summer breeze wafted through the cottage and my nails tore into the rotting wood.

I had never really left the cottage since leaving Kanna, all those years ago. The thought of leaving frightened me, more-so than the samurai before me, or all the outside eyes in the world. I was the child of the woods, my mother had said before her death. I was the woods - its rivers were my blood, its soil my skin, its wind my breath, and in it, I was free. But to leave… everything I'd ever known would change.

I looked at Kyuzou, his eyes but tired red slits. His skin beaded with sweat, the contours of muscle covered in the dying day's glow. It seemed strange to think that had I not rescued the fallen samurai, I might not be in this situation. Nay, perhaps I still would - - fate is a cruel creature.

"I- I am not welcome in Kanna." I finally said, voice but a whisper. "They drove my mother and I from their village long ago."

"Why?"

"It is easy to blame things that are not understood on those who are near." I supplied, unsure of the exact reasons myself, my eyes straying towards the doorway. The sun had dimmed slightly as clouds past over the sky. There were also things not understood not worth understanding once everything was done.

"Hmm," Kambei stroked his beard, as if to help himself think. "You could treat her if we brought her here." He did not question, it was an order.

I felt myself pale. Villagers knowing where I lived? But yet, even then, these two already had found my hut, Kyuzou-sama too, would eventually leave. My heart ached. I could not play the naive girl forever, I knew this. My mother had told me this. I could not expect to stay here always in secret, no matter how much I longed to.

'You lie to yourself,' my bells jingled, 'would you have taken in Kyuzou-sama, if you wanted to remain secret? Alone?'

"I.. I could try." I was defeated. I did not trust them, I had no reason to. They did not know me, and did not know them. I was no great judge of character or spirit behind the eyes, but perhaps that too were a lie. Things seemed so confusing now with people around. Nothing was simple.

Kambei nodded; there was no hint of a smile on his solemn face. He stood a moment longer and then turned to Kyuzou. His hand grasped the fallen samurai's shoulder. "We will meet in battle when you are well again, Kyuzou-dono(2), and I shall give you what you desire."

Kyuzou strained only a moment longer before unconsciousness took him back into the fitful rest and his furrowed eyes shut.

"We will return before night fall."

And yet, I was unsure if I wanted them to. After all, the woods kept their secrets.

(1) Yama-uba: (A note: keep in mind this is folklore - - I'm not putting real demons in this story(Gods help me I make a Mary-Sue)) Yama-uba is a demon from Japanese legend. Looking like a hag, her unkempt hair is long and white and her kimono is filthy and torn. She inhabits deep forests and mountains, and many stories say she lives in a hut. As a demon, she preys on travelers who have become lost in her layer, sometimes changing her appearance into a beautiful woman or a loved one of the victim. Once she gains their trust, she'll then ensnare them with her hair to consume them through a mouth located on her forehead. She may also offer to "help" the lost traveler and then lead them to a dangerous area of mountain where they fall to their death, upon which she eats them. Yama-uba is skilled in the arts of sorcery, potions, and poisons.

(2) -sama vs. -dono: It took me a while to figure this one out as well. -sama is used as an address for people of higher rank than the one speaking while -dono is used to politely designate someone to the level of the speaker's rank. This is why Yaumi does not refer to Kyuzou as "Kyuzou-dono" and Kambei does - - because they are both great samurai.


End file.
